Sunday, 12 October 2014





The finish on the trim beneath our coffee and beer mug cupboard has evapourated. The oak is bare. The strip of wood is directly above the place on the kitchen counter where the kettle boils and steams. The top rims of the doors beneath the sink are equally grey from shaken dishwater hands, slopping pots and damp tea towels. The minor maintenance can wait until it’s too cold to go outside for any reason other than a quick cigarette.


The city is awash in shades of green and gold with warmer accents of burgundy and the iron oranges of rust and decay. You suspect most of Alberta looks this way today. The growing season is over and here’s hoping a healthy harvest is all in despite September snows. The sky is the idealistic blue of song, too perfect to be real. The sun feels hotter on your skin than you’d expect. The wind is up and whatever is being carried on it smells good.

Perhaps it’s patently absurd to be raking leaves in an ever-shifting breeze; maybe this is the nature of existence. A single leaf is seemingly weightless, but it doesn’t float or fall upward. An oversized clear yard bag crammed full of birch leaves with the spaces between them compressed packs a deceptive amount of weight. After the knot is tied it appears as if no work has been done. The lawn’s already dappled again with crinkled gold. Yet a bag today means one less tomorrow. Anyway, it’s no puny gift to be pottering around outdoors wearing jeans and just a t-shirt in mid-October.

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